Adoptee Story: Maria Molina

November 18, 2019

Adoptee Story:

Maria Molina, born in Colombia, adopted to Sweden

Intro: Maria Molina, a fellow adoptee from Colombia to Sweden, tells us her adoptee story, in her own words. It takes courage to tell a personal story so honestly and with such vulnerability as Maria does here today. She is sadly, yet another adoptee with the experience of pain, suffering and feeling alone in her life as an adoptee. She talks about the inner push and pull, the shame, the self-doubt and even self-hate that some adoptees experience, as a result of problematic relationships within the adoptive family, and what consequences that can have for the adoptee.

“My name is Maria Molina and I am an adoptee.

I was born in Medellin, Colombia July 16, 1985. I was born into a family who didn’t have much. But they had each other. There was a mother and a father and in total they had 6 children. 4 girls and 2 boys.

In 2016 I was reunited with almost all of them through a Swedish TV-show. I’m not proud of resorting to that, being on TV to find my family, but I was desperate. I will tell you more about that later.

The story goes that my grandmother had a problem with my parents’ relationship, they are interracial. My mother was working away from home during the weeks and only came home during the weekends. One day when she came home the kids weren’t there. Grandmother had sold us. And in my case I was sent to a children’s hospital and on to an orphanage. My mother then somehow managed to retrieve all but 2 children. Me and my sister Omayra. Apparently she was sent to Granada, Spain. There was some contact and pictures were sent from her new home when she was around 8 years old, but since then there has been nothing.

I came to an orphanage in the city of Medellin. I was taken care of by the women who worked there. They were young. I was a baby. In my papers it said I was 1 years old when I came there from the hospital where I had been treated for malnutrition, starvation. I was not easy to handle. High maintenance right from the start, or just unbelievable sad and traumatized. I did not want to eat. Everyone tried to feed me, but I would only allow one woman. She was working mostly in the garden, she was young and beautiful, and somehow she got through to me and we formed a band. She called med La mencha, because of my curly hair. It was also the nickname of a famous singer in Colombia at that time and we had the same type of hair.

I don’t know how I felt during my stay at the orphanage.

In Sweden there was a couple filing for adoption. They had filled out forms and stated their requests. They waited and waited. I think they waited for the adoption agency to find a match. And one day they did. I don’t know how. But they did.

My Swedish soon-to-be-parents came down to Medellin in June 1987 and picked me up. They stayed for a week or two. Later, they told me I didn’t want to leave the orphanage. They said an older girl held me and I cried when I was taken from her. I don’t know why they would tell me such a thing. I have always felt very sad when they’ve told me about Colombia and how they got me.

They have also told me that when we came to the hotel room I sat down on the floor and would scratch the palm of my hand repeatedly. My mother always wondered what that was about. They said I drew a lot, always a pen in my hand. On the plane to Sweden, I ran up and down the aisle. When I came home to their house I would go by myself to the bathroom and close the door. I didn’t want them to come in. My mother said she would stand by the door and peek. And I played with the running water. That was a rarity for me.

Growing up they showed me pictures of Colombia but it never felt good, I just felt sad. As I grew older I didn’t want to listen or talk about it. A sense of shame came over me. It was too personal for me. I needed them to stay out of my emotional life. They were happy to have me. They had longed for me. I had no say. When puberty came for me I started to detach from them even more. Hatred and love, all tossed around. Some days we were best friends, the next not so much. For years we have had a roller coaster relationship where I never could decide if I loved them or not. Lately I have decided I can’t have them in my life. The memories of growing up haunts me and I just want to forget.

To this story comes another story. The one of my brother, also adopted from Colombia. My parents had adopted him one year earlier.

Everything started out good between us. But then we started fighting. He started picking on me and it escalated. We used to have the nastiest fights. He was uncontrollable and violent. He would control me, threaten me and punch me whenever he felt like it. He was so mean. I really felt that he hated me. At one point he wished me dead and looked deep into my eyes as he said it. Every day he told me how worthless and stupid I was. And this, our dear parents couldn’t stop. For this I was angry, am still angry. They should have protected me. But they failed. It sent me into a spiral of self harm. Self hatred. Looking for comfort, looking for love. My youth was not happy. My youth was spent on the streets, alone, with different guys looking for affirmation. And I was used. I was longing for home, and I knew Sweden wasn’t it. I was missing my language, Spanish. I was missing friends who I could see myself in. I had little to no contact with other adoptees. And the few I met didn’t want to talk about it or had a different experience. I felt alone all the time. I missed my family and my origin. This was hard on me.

As all teenagers and young adults, I was looking for a place where I could fit in but more than that, someone to tell my story to. I was in desperate need to let people know what I had been through because I couldn’t make sense of it myself. Could I get a witness? Could someone see me?

After years of looking for love and being burned repeatedly, I finally caved in and wrote a Television network asking them if they could find my Colombian family. I had always had my file to read. My parents were open about the details of the adoption. They just said there wasn’t much information in the file. But as it turned out there was a personal number for my biological mother in there! With that number I could track her down. Only ,I left that to the television show. I couldn’t see myself doing the search alone. So, I was flown to Colombia and filmed while they searched for my family. Only they had already found them without telling me. The search was all theatre. I was surrounded by the 4 people who was the crew and they lied to me every day for 10 days. Then I got to meet my family. It was a painful experience.

But in all that hurt something beautiful came out. I finally met my long-lost family, mom, dad and almost all siblings. Only missing that one sister. I also had nieces and nephews, cousins, aunts and an uncle, who looks a bit like Mr. Bean. LOL.

But it took 2 years for me to return. You see after the show I flew back Sweden and didn’t know what to do. I was at a complete loss for words and action. No-one had told me how to do this adoptee life, and especially not this part. So I hid away in drugs. I escaped to a place where nothing mattered. I anaesthetized myself with endless sleep. I lost a job and hung out with criminals. Got my electric bike stolen and much more. When I no longer had a job, I was able to try new things. I volunteered at a music festival and got a job as a stagehand. I got to work with a really nice band with a really nice crew and, with their active effort, they somehow helped me back to life. They showed me a different way to live. They made me want what they had. They made me want to continue my life. But it took time.

The sound technician and I became friends and he started to expect more of me. He wouldn’t accept that I did drugs and forced me to stop. It took two years. He also helped me buy tickets to Colombia and followed me there. And we are going there again in December this year.

That is my story of how the adoption has put its mark on me. If it were up to me no children would ever be adopted. It hurts too much not knowing where you come from. It hurts growing up missing your family and not being allowed to talk about it. Here in Sweden adoptees are supposed to be happy and grateful that they got a better life. But did we get a better life?

I have little to no contact with my Swedish family. In Sweden, I no longer have a family. I was made an orphan again because they hate it that I hate what happened to me. They were happy so why couldn’t I be? I ruined everything for my Swedish parents. I have been fighting so much with them that they don’t want to talk to me anymore. My dad text sometimes to make sure I’m still alive. But that is it.

So you tell me, did I get a better life?”

Written by Maria Molina

Maria was born in Colombia and adopted to Sweden.

She writes poetry and other creative texts.

Maria is an observant who likes to learn new things.

Sharing her story with us today, she has helped further highlight some of the issues adoptees face.

Amanda Medina

I was adopted from Medellin, Colombia to Sweden in 1985. I was about a year and a half when I started my life as an adoptee, and it would take 32 years until I was ready to face what that means, what that has always meant, and what that will always mean.